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"Are you ok?" I am worried that somehow I have managed to annoy him, and we have just made it to the destination.
"Yes." His answer is final, and I am not sure how to take it. I definitely won't be asking him any more questions. I release a breath I didn't know I was holding when we pull up at the museum. As soon as the car parks, I unbuckle and put my hand on the handle to open it. A sound much like a growling lion resounds in the car. My head jerks toward him, and his eyes sear me.
"Don't move until I come around and get you." Oh my.
"Ok. Sorry." I answer, removing my hand from the handle like it is on fire. I watch his corded body as he gets out of the car, hands the valet his keys, and walks up to my door. I am the only one in the car, but the oxygen has been sucked out all the same. The door opens, and his hand reaches out. I place mine in his, and we both gasp at the same time. I look up at him, and my body shudders. I barely reach his chin. The juxtaposition of our sizes is sexy and makes me want to be in his arms, whining for him to take me. Click is a man who could lift me, move me, and render me immobile. Oh, shoot. I should stop thinking of him right now. I drop my head, hoping he didn't see my face heat up.
"So fucking tiny. Someone could steal you, and I wouldn't know it." His hand slides down my arm as he murmurs this, and I lick my lips as my eyes meet his. I don't know if he intended me to hear him, but the way he is touching me mixed with his words is like having chocolate and champagne. I want him to say it again. Prove to me this isn't one-sided.
"What?" I ask him, leaning into his touch. Fire blazes into his eyes before it is replaced by ice. His hand drops, and he steps back.
"Nothing. Let's go." The moment is lost.
I follow him inside and walk away as he pays and talks to the curator about what I don't know. "Beautiful isn't it?" A young man about my age stands next to me as I admire a Van Gogh.
"It is. He is one of my favorites." I say, my eyes still on the painting.
"Did you know we have an entire exhibit of his work for a limited time?"
"Oh wow! No, I didn't know that. Where in the museum can I find it?" I could sit and stare at his work for hours.
"Why don't I show you." One minute his hand is on my back, prepared to guide me, but seconds later, his hand is gone, and I hear a grunt. Turning, I see his hand in Clicks fist, their noses touching one another. What the heck?
"Don't ever fucking touch her," Click says into his face. The museum guy, shaking and terrified, nods his head. I should be appalled. I mean, we are in a classy establishment right now, but this display from him has only succeeded in soaking my panties. "Now disappear before I help you." Jesus. He is so freaking hot when he is angry and... jealous? I am in so much trouble.
FIVE
CLICK
THE NEXT DAY
The museum was a test of my control and morals. Damnit, it was a test of my fucking mind. Everything she does and says makes me want to fuck her, own her, keep her. She is so sweet and sexy, and she doesn't know it. I watched, dangerously close to the edge, as men clocked her every movement. I watched several make moves toward her stopping only when they saw the murderous intent on my face. Hell, I basically glued myself to her back, towering over her, covering her like an umbrella from anyone not worthy of her sunshine. I am one of those unworthy assholes, but lucky for me, I have an excuse to steal her light. I am protecting it. One dumb fuck actually was brave enough to move close enough to touch her until he turned, and I showed him my piece. Coward ran away. See unworthy. If she were something I was coveting or my woman, nothing would make me run away from her. As it is, I can't seem to keep my distance.
The ride back was much like the ride coming here. She was quiet, and I was a grouchy son of a bitch. When I heard her stomach growl, I asked her if she was hungry. When she said yes, I made a detour. When we pulled up to La Barbieri, a Cuban restaurant, on the way back to the house, I didn't miss the curiosity at my choice of restaurant. Truthfully, I chose there because even though she doesn't know it, I am part owner. The silent part. The chef, my buddy from back in the day, insisted on naming this place after me, citing my faith in him as the reason he was able to realize his dream. Whatever. I like good food. He is a good cook. It was a good investment. Until that moment, I never gave it a second thought. But I wanted her to love it too. She might not know it belongs to me, given she doesn't know my name, but her approval means everything to me.
